


Chewing the Fat, Woman to Woman

by LadySolitaire83



Series: Molly Is Sherlock's Constant [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Ladies Having Tea, Background Warstan, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, F/M, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Mary Ships It, Missing Scene, Molly Hooper/Mary Morstan Friendship, Rosie is So Loved, background Sherlolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 12:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySolitaire83/pseuds/LadySolitaire83
Summary: Molly drops by the Watsons' flat on her day off and has tea with Mary. Chatting, teasing, and some silent Sherlolly shipping ensue.





	Chewing the Fat, Woman to Woman

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a Warstan fic idea, but I decided to turn it into a Molly/Mary friendship fic after "The Six Thatchers" and "The Lying Detective". I will always be bitter that Molly and Mary never had a scene together where they had a significant interaction, so I decided that they're gonna have tea and a nice chat.
> 
> Also, I'd been wondering if Mary was one of the snipers at the pool at the end of "The Great Game". Thankfully, "The Six Thatchers" provided a sort-of answer (or at least one we can infer).
> 
> Thanks to [spaceemonkeyyxd](http://spaceemonkeyyxd.tumblr.com) and [pipmer](http://pipmer.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for helping me out with [some Brit-picking](http://ladysolitaire.tumblr.com/post/159021854482/ladysolitaire-brit-pick-question-do-brits-say).
> 
> I got the title from Watson's line in that TAB scene where he and Holmes are staking out the Carmichael house. [OED's definition](https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/chew_the_fat_\(or_rag\)) is perfect for the plot, and I changed the 'man to man' bit for obvious reasons. It may sound weird, but [this fic already has the most title changes ever](http://ladysolitaire.tumblr.com/post/160168252797/my-mollymary-brotp-fic-is-almost-done-as-in). So I just went, 'Screw it!'
> 
> The rating is for some cursing and mild teasing about sexual things. * _wink wink_ *
> 
> Hope y'all like it!
> 
> I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss.
> 
> All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.

Mary was tickling Rosie’s little tummy when the doorbell rang. Her eyes widened in delight, and she giggled at the little ‘o’ that her daughter’s mouth made. “Who’s that at the door, I wonder? Is it Aunty Molly? I think it is!” Grinning, she picked up Rosie and sang softly to her as they made their way to the front room.

Molly’s happy smile greeted them when she opened the door. “Hiya!”

“Hi, Aunty Molly!” She chuckled as her friend kissed Rosie’s chubby cheek. “Tea?” she offered, moving aside to let her in.

She nodded and crossed the threshold. “Yes, please.” Her brows furrowed as she hung her coat up on the peg by the door. “Er, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, not at all,” she replied with a smile and a shake of her head. “I was just about to put her down for a nap. Would you like to help?”

“Of course!” She dropped her handbag next to the sofa. “Shall I sing her a lullaby?”

Minutes later, Mary carried a tray of steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits to the sitting room, while Molly laid Rosie in her cot. _She'd make a wonderful mother to her and Sherlock’s children if he’d only get his head out of his arse_ , she thought, smirking to herself as she set the tray down on the coffee table.

Smiling and staring at the dozing baby, Molly pressed the pads of her index and middle fingers to her lips and then brushed them against Rosie’s cheek. She softly giggled as she joined Mary on the sofa. “She’s so cute!” she whispered. “I just want to pinch her chubby cheeks all day.”

“I know! She really is the best and purest thing that I’ve ever done.” She gently blew on her tea to cool it. “Did she give you a hard time?”

Still gazing at Rosie, she gently shook her head. “No, no, she didn’t.” She finally turned to Mary and picked up her own mug. “She was asleep halfway through the lullaby. And I might have been imagining things, but I think she smiled at me a little bit?”

Her face lit up. “She did?” She reached for her friend’s forearm and lightly squeezed it. “No, you weren’t imagining it. She's starting to smile a lot.” She pulled her hand away and did an impression of her daughter’s smile.

She giggled. “Oh, my God, Mary. That’s exactly it!”

“Don’t tell John, but I think Rosie got her goofy smile from him,” she joked. “It looks a bit like his smile when Sherlock praises him for saving someone’s life or when he thinks his deductions are correct… or when he’s flirting with other women. Did you know his mates call him ‘Three Continents Watson’?”

Molly caught her wink, and they burst into a giggling fit. They placed their mugs down on their respective coasters to prevent the tea from spilling onto the floor. Their shoulders shook and they clutched the cushions against their stomachs as they laughed.

“I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I find that hilarious,” she said once they could look at each other without giggling uncontrollably. “But seriously? Is that even true?” She picked up her mug again.

“Apparently, yeah. Mike Stamford let it slip early in our relationship. I just went, ‘Really?’” She rolled her eyes and shook her head in amusement. “He thinks it makes me jealous, but, frankly, I think it’s hot,” Mary admitted before lifting her mug to her lips. “But I do think Rosie got her smile from him.” She shrugged her shoulders and grinned.

Sitting back against the cushions, they turned their attention to her sleeping daughter and drank tea in silence for a couple of minutes.

Mary turned to her. “Are you working today?”

Molly set her mug down on the table and gave a happy sigh as she straightened. “No, I’m off for two days. It’s been a few days of double shifts, so I’m glad for the days off. Anyway, I finished my errands early, so I thought I’d see you and Rosie. Are you sure it’s OK that I just stopped by with only a ten-minute heads-up?”

“Yes, of course,” she assured her with a kind smile. “You’re not bothering me or Rosie at all, Molly. You know, Rosie smiles and laughs a lot when we mention your name and when you visit, so she obviously likes you. I mean, how can she not? You’re one of the best godmothers ever!” She took a sip of tea before continuing. “And _I_ like having you around. You’re a lovely person, and talking with another adult, especially a woman who can deal with the Baker Street boys as well as I can, honestly keeps me sane. Well, _mostly_.” She chuckled.

Grinning, Molly reached for her mug. “I feel the same, Mary. I mean, I like you too, and I like hanging out with you,” she clarified with a giggle. “You’re fun and smart and kind. I feel so at ease around you. And you always make me the perfect cuppa!”

“Thank you,” she said with a brief nod and a pleased smile. “It’s one of my special talents!”

“Oh, by the way, Mrs Hudson mentioned to me the other day that she’d like us girls to meet, say, once a month for tea.”

“Yeah, she’s mentioned that a few times. I’ve told her I’m available most days, though I’m usually exhausted.” She gave Molly a small shrug.

“I understand. My sister lives in Vancouver, so we used to call each other at least once a month. When she gave birth to her first child eight years ago, that monthly call became once every two months. Then when Skype became popular, that phone call eventually became one Skype call every three months. Now, we’re lucky to Skype once a _year_!”

She shifted on the sofa so she could have a better look at Molly. “I didn’t know you had a sister. What’s she like? Is she your only sibling?” While she had gleaned what she could from the handful of times that she spent with Molly and from Sherlock’s casual comments, as well as from the other members of the Baker Street Bunch, she still preferred to hear the story straight from the pathologist herself.

“Oh, I just have one sister. Her name’s Betty, and she’s a couple of years older. We were really close when we were younger. She even punched a boy who asked me out for a joke when I was in Year 9!” She giggled before heaving a wistful sigh. “But then she joined an architectural firm in Vancouver 10 years ago. She came home to get married about a year after she moved to Vancouver and stayed for a month, but I’ve barely seen her since I saw her and her husband off at the airport.”

“Have you visited her? Vancouver is an incredibly beautiful city. You’ll _love_ Whistler Blackcomb if you’re the winter sports type.” Her mind flashed back to one weekend at the resort, where she eliminated a particularly clever mark while skiing ten winters ago. She cleared her throat as she shook off the unbidden memory before continuing. “There’s plenty of national parks to visit too if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Molly shook her head. “Nope, I haven’t been there. I was supposed to visit her a few years ago, but Sherlock needed me, so…” She shrugged her shoulders as she trailed off.

She nodded. “Right. When he needed a body to help him fake his suicide.”

The faint colour on Molly’s cheeks piqued her interest. “More like when he got stabbed and broke his foot in Greece while dismantling Moriarty’s network, and Mycroft asked me to look after him for a couple of months. Honestly, he was even more of a pain in the arse while recuperating than after he was shot, but at least I got a paper in the Journal of Pathology and a nice tan out of it.” She giggled. “I’m planning to visit her this winter though.” She raised her hands and crossed her fingers.

“And your parents?” asked Mary before she sipped her tea.

“My dad died of lung cancer right before I started uni. Then four years after my dad passed away, my mum met a lovely widower, who could be mistaken as Colin Firth’s older brother or cousin, and remarried. They moved to Glasgow several years ago.” Molly gave her a melancholic smile before she reached for her mug. “What about your family, Mary?”

She set her mug on the coffee table and cleared her throat. “Oh, I’m an only child. My Aunt Josie, who’s my mum’s sister, raised me after my parents died when I was in primary school. But she died of ovarian cancer before I finished uni, so I’ve been all alone for the better part of 20 years.”

Perhaps for the first time since her first date with John, Mary hated that she had to tell the cover story that she crafted for this (hopefully) final identity. _Thank God it’s not all lies._ Though she was a little scared that Molly’s ability to see through a certain consulting detective’s bullshit might apply to her as well, she had a feeling that Molly could be trusted with her secret. It might not be the same as helping Sherlock fake his suicide and keeping the truth from their friends for two years. But, if the Holmes brothers could trust her, then perhaps Mary could trust her too. _As long as she doesn’t ask about Sherlock’s shooting, we’d probably be fine._ She also made a mental note to ask Sherlock if he had told Molly anything about her past.

Before she was forced to elaborate on her story, she asked Molly about the recent paper that she published.

Her eyes widened in surprise and her cheeks turned pink, and she gave her a pleased smile. “Oh, you’ve read it?”

She nodded. “It’s fascinating. What made you study it?”

Molly launched into the story, starting from the moment she recognised a peculiar pattern in one of Sherlock’s cases. She spent a bit of time recounting how it took a night of undercover work with him at a fancy fundraising gala before he agreed to provide his case files and John’s notes for her paper. Then she described the amazing responses, including a marriage proposal from a famous expert on the subject, that she received for the paper.

Mary was fairly sure that, on a rare day that she and John could persuade him to take a 15-minute break, Sherlock had mentioned the expert’s name on a phone call with his brother. She could also remember that same expert’s announcement the next day regarding a long-term research project in Antarctica. Fighting the urge to march into 221B Baker Street (with Rosie in her arms, of course) and have a nice little chat with His Nibs about his curious relationship with his favourite pathologist, she decided to ask about Molly’s work instead.

Time passed quickly as they talked about the current state of NHS, their respective groups of friends, Sally Donovan’s promotion to DI, Greg Lestrade’s new relationship with a forensic officer, and Toby’s health issues. By the time they finished watching all videos of Rosie’s on Mary’s phone and giggling over her baby’s photos on Molly’s, they had drunk more tea and eaten nearly all the biscuits on the plate.

“And how’s your love life, if you don’t mind my asking?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows.

Molly laughed and shook her head. “Oh, it's the least important aspect of my life at the moment. I actually haven’t gone out with anyone since before Christmas.”

“Why not?” she asked, a bit more forcefully than she intended. “You’re a strong, beautiful, intelligent, kind, compassionate, patient, and all-around marvellous woman. You’re a _fucking_ _catch_. Any man––or woman, if that’s also your thing––would be lucky to have you.”

Molly giggled and blushed. “Thanks. Um, it’s not that no one’s hitting on me or asking me out. It’s just that I’m not interested in them–– _any_ of them. I’m quite happy these days with my work, as well as caring for Toby, going out with my friends, looking after Rosie, hanging out with you…” She grinned at Mary as she trailed off.

“And what about Sherlock?” she asked with only a slight hint of teasing in her voice.

Molly’s cheeks turned redder as she stared at Mary over her mug. “What about him? We’re just good friends. We hang out, mostly in the path lab or in the morgue. Sometimes, he asks me to help him out with his experiments at Baker Street. Occasionally, I assist him in solving crimes when neither you nor John could. But that’s all.” She took a long sip of her tea.

Laughing, Mary tucked a leg under her. “Everybody in our little circle knows you still have feelings for him. His brother is probably at least intellectually aware of it. Even Wiggins knows, for God’s sake. And I’ve seen the way Sherlock treats you.” _Let’s not get started on how he looks at her sometimes…_ “I don’t think he’d mind if you asked him out now.”

Molly’s eyes widened before she knitted her eyebrows together and crossed her legs at the knees. “How do you mean? He treats me the same way he treats everyone else… doesn’t he?”

She smiled inwardly at the cautious yet slightly hopeful look in her friend’s eyes. Grabbing a biscuit from the plate, she took a bite and shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve noticed he’s quite gentler and kinder towards you. I mean, yeah, he’s a git towards everyone, but he manages to be less of a cock when it comes to you.”

She had also heard Sherlock refer to her as ‘his pathologist,’ but she had no plans to tell her that right now. _I’d rather wait for him to slip up and say that in Molly’s presence_ , she gleefully thought. _Oooooohhhhh, I just hope I have my phone ready to record that moment!_

Clearing her throat, Molly reached for the last biscuit and bit into it. “He’s probably still thanking me for helping him fake his death. Did you know that he wanted to get some chips after taking me out to solve cases when John was still mad at him? Unfortunately, I had to decline since I was still engaged to Tom.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe this is him trying to make up for that or something?”

Mary gently shook her head and smiled at her. “Molly, he could just buy you chips or a cup of coffee or proper dinner. He doesn’t need to constantly modify his behaviour towards you. But he does… _every time_. And your flat is his only bolthole that’s also the home of one of his friends.”

Molly let out a shocked gasp and nearly choked on her biscuit. “How did you know that?”

“I’ve seen cat hairs on his coat that are quite identical to those on your clothes. I’ve also smelt your body wash on his skin. It’s not too obvious with his aftershave. But, after we spend the whole day at Baker Street, Rosie ends up smelling like she does when you babysit her. So he’s been spending some time around your cat and using your body wash when he uses your flat as a bolthole. It wasn’t a difficult leap, to be honest.” She inwardly giggled at how she sounded a bit like Sherlock. She gave Molly a soft smile. “Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me. Not even Anderson knows.”

“I’m not actually sure if it’s supposed to be a secret, but thanks anyway,” she replied with a nod. She heaved a deep sigh. “It’s not even really my _house_. He really just takes over my _bedroom_ when he wants to think. I honestly don’t know why he can’t do that in his own flat or his other boltholes, but I agreed to it as long as he doesn’t go through my stuff, especially the _really personal_ stuff.”

She gave a knowing nod. _I would love to see Sherlock go into buffering mode when he discovers her fun toys_ , she thought with a slight smirk. “So what happens when he, I don’t know, goes to your flat and you’re already asleep or something? Does he kick you out?”

She shook her head. “Well, not anymore,” she amended. “The first and only time he tried to turn me out of my own bedroom, I’d just come home from a 16-hour shift. So, as you can probably imagine, I was completely bone-tired. Would you believe that he _barked_ at me to get out?” She laughed at the memory. “And I just went, ‘Fuck off,’ and I grabbed the paperback from my bedside table and threw it at him. I think the book hit his shoulder or something.”

Mary’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth to muffle her gasp. She leant forward. “And what did he do?”

“I opened an eye to find him stuck in his buffering mode in the doorway. Then I promptly went back to sleep. I found him in his mind palace in the next room when I woke up. I think he also tidied up the sitting room and the kitchen, for which I was thankful. Since then, when I’m really tired or already sleeping, he heads to the spare bedroom. Lately, though, he just sits on my bed and does his mind-palace thing. Sometimes, I wake up with him sleeping next to me.”

“Oh, my God!” Mary grinned and gave her an arch look. “Does he leave a set of pyjamas in your flat, or does he sleep in his boxers?” She gasped as a thought hit her. “Does he sleep in the _nude_?”

“Not to my knowledge,” she replied, laughing and flushing. “If he isn’t wearing his usual suit and socks, he wears pyjama bottoms.” She paused to clear her throat. “He left a T-shirt in the spare room, but, um, he rarely wears it.”

“I bet you’ve got a special album on your phone that’s just full of photos of him sleeping shirtless, am I right?” She waggled her eyebrows again and laughed.

“Shut up!” She giggled and rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “But, seriously, it’s all very innocent. He’s never even copped a feel. And morning glory is _totally_ normal.”

“Of course it is,” she replied with a cheeky wink. “Do you ever wonder if he’s wanked off in your bed when you’re not home?”

She gave her a mildly horrified look. “I don’t know! But, God, I hope not,” she said before she burst into another giggling fit.

Mary joined her, while making another mental note to tease him about that later and see how he would react, until Rosie began to fuss. “Whoops!” she whispered as she rose and walked towards the cot to soothe her baby back to sleep.

A couple of minutes later, she returned to the sofa. She cocked an eyebrow at Molly, who now looked unsure as she finished her biscuit. “Everything all right there?”

She looked up and smiled nervously at her. “Y-yeah, yeah.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Um, Mary, uh, could I ask you something?”

Her heart thudded in her chest. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

“When I visited Sherlock in the hospital after he was shot, he mentioned something to me. H-he said that you, er, were an assassin. Is that true, or was it just the morphine talking?”

Mary stared at her. “How did that even come up in your conversation?”

“He, uh, told me who shot him.” She took a sip of her tea. “Don’t worry. I don’t hold it against you. Well, I did for a minute. But Sherlock said that he’d forgiven you once he’s explained everything to me. And I completely understand your motivations, so I decided to forgive you as well. I just… would like to hear it straight from you.”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. _Here we go._ She opened her eyes and gave Molly a tentative smile. “Yes, yes, it’s true. I used to be an assassin. But something… unforeseen and terrible happened during my last mission, so I, uh, decided to quit immediately. I acquired a stillborn baby’s identity five years ago, and I went to nursing school. The surgery hired me shortly after I graduated, and then I met John. You know the rest.” She sighed, wondering exactly how much Sherlock told her.

Molly nodded, her expression thoughtful and neutral. “Sherlock didn’t tell me about what happened at your last job.”

“I don’t think he knows about that. I, uh, I gave John a memory stick containing everything about my past. I suppose he never stole it from John so he could read it.” She shrugged her shoulders and briefly chuckled.

To her relief, Molly giggled. “He probably would’ve if he’d been released from the hospital sooner.”

“Well, it’s his fault for sneaking out of the hospital to play marriage counsellor for us while he was internally bleeding.”

Molly gave her a gentle smile. “That’s Sherlock Holmes for you: risking his life to save the relationship of two people he loves.”

She grinned back at her friend. “He did make a vow at our wedding.”

She brushed the crumbs off her jeans and worried her bottom lip. “Five years, eh?”

“My last mission was actually six years ago,” she clarified. “It’s the Mary Morstan identity that I assumed five years ago.”

Molly nodded. “Right. You weren’t one of the snipers at the pool, were you?”

“The pool?” She knitted her eyebrows together until she remembered something that John told her after Sherlock came back from the dead. “Oh, the pool where Moriarty had snipers on John and Sherlock?”

Molly nodded.

She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t there. I did get a message about that, an invitation from one of my contacts, but I said no. I wanted to leave that life completely, and taking a job to point a rifle at two blokes that got too close to Moriarty would’ve pulled me back in. It’s not my favourite type of job anyway. It’s a good thing I declined that job, since I had _absolutely_ no idea that I’d marry the guy with the bomb strapped to him and have a beautiful daughter with him. Quite honestly, I think John would divorce me if I were one of the snipers at the pool.”

She frowned. “Well, I hope not. I think he’d forgive you for that too. Did John read what’s on the memory stick?”

Her smile was soft as she glanced down and shook her head. “No, he threw it into the fireplace at Sherlock’s parents’ home last Christmas without reading its contents. He _has_ asked me, though, if I ever worked for Moriarty.”

“Did you?”

“I almost did several times. But, thankfully for me at least, certain governments paid better than criminal masterminds so, no, I never worked _for_ him. Unless, of course, you count the times that he was in league with certain governments I was working for. To the best of my knowledge, that number is zero.”

Molly sighed and grinned brightly at her. “To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. From what Sherlock told me, your exceptional skills would’ve caught Moriarty’s eye. I might even ask you to teach me some of those skills so I can defend myself if necessary. Anyway, obviously, we’d still be friends even if you’ve worked for him. But, Mary, I am so, _so_ relieved that you never did.”

“So am I, Molly. So am I.” She reached for her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “And let me know when you want self-defence training with me. I’m more than happy to teach you. Rosie will be fine with the boys for a few hours.”

“Until Sherlock takes a case and hands her off to Mrs Hudson,” added Molly with a wink.

“Obviously,” she replied with a wide grin. “Just text me when you’re available, all right?”

“I will. Thanks!”

“Anytime.” She gave her a relieved smile.

A text alert went off, startling both of them. She glanced at Rosie, who had not stirred.

Murmuring an apology, Molly grabbed her handbag from the floor and pulled out her mobile. She read the message and shook her head. “It’s Sherlock. He’s at my flat, and he’s wondering why I’m not home. I mean, he knows _full well_ that it’s my day off and I have errands to run.”

 _Of course he even has her schedule memorised._ “Just tell him to come here. You and I can make dinner for the four of us. John will be home soon anyway. What do you say, Molls?” She beamed at her friend.

Molly took a moment to think, scrunching her nose. Then she giggled and shrugged her shoulders. “Why the hell not?” She typed out a reply and pressed ‘Send’ before setting her phone on the coffee table.

Rosie began crying, so Mary rushed to pick her up from her cot. “I think someone’s hungry!”

Molly grabbed the mugs and replaced them on the tray. Her phone chirped again before she could lift the tray. She glanced at the screen. “He’s on his way.”

 _Of course._ Mary’s smile widened. “Excellent.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still rusty after months of writer's block, so I hope neither Molly nor Mary sounds OOC.
> 
> ~~I’m also not sorry about the Sherlolly in this.~~
> 
> So what do you think? Hate it? Like it? Love it?


End file.
